The Light Inside Your Silence

The afternoon sun cuts across the keyboard, illuminating the screen where your thumb hovers over a name that still holds weight. You type a word, then delete it.

Type another, then backspace until the cursor blinks in an empty field, a small, silent confession of things too heavy to send. In this long middle of the day, the performance of being okay feels exhausting, and the unsent message becomes a monument to the gap between your face and your heart.

But listen — the light is not waiting for a perfect text to reach you. It is already inside the silence you created, brighter than any words you could have typed.

You do not need to explain yourself to be held. The screen goes blank, but you are not erased.